Christine's Angel
by mllechristinedaae
Summary: Takes place after the story ends... oh no Raoul is the lead tenor! What now? Chapter 3 up
1. Chapter 1

Christine's Angel  
  
Love me, that's all I ask of you...  
Christine Daaé stared into the Vicomte's eyes, eyes filled with adoration and wonder as they pledged their hearts to each other in this darkness of the Phantom's Labyrinth. She was free at last. He had let her go and she was with the one she loved most. So why did she feel so empty inside? A part of her heart seemed to linger at the house on the lake, and her music cried out in protest. For when her Angel of Music spoke, it was like fairy dust, softly caressing her like candlelight, and she sang, as she has never sang before. No, that wasn't true. She wanted to be with Raoul, desperately. And he has presented his heart to her on a platter, risked his life, loved and cherished. But she would never sing her heart out for him. Filled with confusion, Christine heard the mob in the distance. Would they get him? He would die, and the torment would be over. Yet she knew that wasn't true. Erik would survive, but only if he wills it. A sob escaped her throat and she fell into Raoul's arms, shaking, as the world surrounding here blurred and she herself drifted away, haunted by the memories of the Phantom of the Opera.  
  
Erik stared at the ring, dejected. Christine I love you...The biggest mistake he's ever made, to fall in love knowing no one could love a living corpse. And there he stood watching the most beautiful creature in the world with the angelic voice sail away, watching his only chance of love sail away. He ran his hands softly down his face...why...why? As the mob moved closer and closer, his only thought was escape, as he wrapped his cloak around himself...it's over now...  
  
Meg Giry picked up the mask with her small hand. Was this really a reminder of the Opera Ghost that had frightened them for so long? But mother said he wasn't evil, only a broken shell of a man, shamed by his face, condemned to hide forever from society. Mother had taken pity on such a man, and he had escaped once again. She could hear the murmurings of the mob behind her, louder and louder. "Burn the house of the devil!" As one by one the men threw their torches on the house, the burning flames of light invaded the darkness, the flames illuminating the whole underground cellar, the hidden labyrinth no longer hidden.  
  
Erik shrank back from the rest of the world on the roof of the Paris Opera House, wrapping the black cloak about his fail, skeletal figure. The Opera Ghost hated the roof, for it is where the dreaded daylight shines first at dawn, and for a deeper reason he is not willing to admit, for it is where he first witnessed Christine's love for that foolish boy, the poor excuse for a vicomte. He had wanted Christine to be happy. But could she really be happy with him? It wasn't his concern anymore. It did not matter now, for Paris was consumed in darkness and there would be no one to see him. But he could never stay here in broad daylight, when men would point and stare and ladies fumble for their smelling salts at the sight of his horrible distorted face. He tasted the rain and felt it on his torn flesh. The mob must be gone now. He would go.  
  
Christine...Christine...Christine...Two familiar voices...no, "Raoul!" A cry was heard in the dressing room.  
"I'm here, Little Lotte, I'll always be here. Quiet now."  
"Raoul...oh, let this all be a nightmare. No, it cannot be, for you were in it."  
"Shh...it's all over. You're safe. Nothing can ever harm you again." He gently kissed her and Christine noticed the red mark around his neck. Now could a man be so cruel and so comforting, so horrifying and beautiful at the same time? She cursed herself for having these thoughts.  
"Lets get married, Raoul. We've waited so long."  
"Of course, my dear. We will, soon." He kissed her again, bending down to brush dark curls from her face. "But there's so much involved in a wedding. And I want you to have the most splendid wedding in France, the wedding of the year. So when you quit the opera—"  
"Quit the Opera?" Cutting him off abruptly, Christine breathed, "but... that's quite impossible. The opera is the only home I knew, Meg my best friend and Mme. Giry my family since..." She bit her lip, fighting back tears. "And nothing could ever change my love for music."  
"But isn't it time you put your past behind you?" Seeing Christine's tear-stained face, he softened. "You don't have to. Get your rest, my dear, for tomorrow we plan a wedding."  
  
Christine... He had made a horrible mistake coming here. He had thought, perhaps, just perhaps Christine would long for him, but the pain of rejection welled up in his heart. He cursed himself for his weakness, looking through the mirror that brought her here. But he would always love her.  
"Good night, sweet Angel of Music. Your angel of darkness is watching over you."  
He turned and started back down that path that was so familiar to him, down once more. For her he would live on. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own any of the characters! Except for Milly. Antoinette Giry is from The Phantom of Manhattan because I was too lazy to think of a first name for Mme Giry. =P  
  
I apologise if this chapter isn't as good... I finished in a hurry; I wanted to post it before I leave. I'll be in California for the next six days, but hopefully I'll get to do a lot of writing on the plane ride. Now, on to the story.  
  
"Twenty-one inches," announced the wardrobe mistress Raoul had hired. Christine sighed. "Perhaps my corset can be laced a little tighter. No matter, have the designers a sketch of the gown?" Personally she had preferred Meg to be the costumer. They had loved to dress each other up and conduct pretend weddings. But Raoul had insisted on hiring a specialist. It's not like he couldn't afford it, he said. "Yes, mademoiselle. The page boy delivered them this morning." She unrolled a drawing of Christine's wedding gown, handing it to her mistress. Millicent Bloom's thin, English smile faded into a look of worry as Christine's lovely complexion turned paper white. "He's here. I can't escape. I never will." Her legs gave out under her, letting her body fall lifeless to the ground.  
  
Months of hard work, all gone... at least his beloved music was still here. The fools only burned what they can see. That's the problem with the world. They only realised and cared about what their eyes told them. He caressed the hard, cold piano keys and began to play.  
  
Past the point of no return  
  
The games we've played till now are at an end  
  
The music pained him. Christine...Christine... He let his head drop into his hands.  
"Erik?"  
Christine. His thoughts flew to that one word. No, the voice was harsher, older.  
"Who is it?"  
"Erik, come out this minute."  
"NO ONE tells Erik what to do!"  
"It's Antoinette.  
"Oh." In a swirl of his cape, he was here.  
"Mme Giry, where should I go? What would I do?" He sank to his knees, tears running down his face from the two holes that were fiery orange. "I lived only for her. I see no more reason..."  
Her heart went out to him, once again her helpless boy of 10 years ago. "Don't talk like that. We'll build another house. If not, there's plenty of places you can go—London, New York...besides," the corners of her lips twitched. "Didn't she chose you and then you sent her away?"  
"How did you—oh nevermind. Christine didn't love me. She wanted beauty instead of music." His face was wrenched in pain. "She would have resented me, and we would have never..." Erik trailed off with a heartbreaking sigh.  
"I'll start rebuilding tomorrow."  
  
Firmin banged his head on the mahogany desk in disgust. "Lunacy! All of this!"  
They told the public of the accidental death of Signor Piangi. The police took it fine, the newspapers didn't. Too many accidents at the Opera House, it read.  
"Surely this is all...a coincidence. There is on ghost. The house we burnt was abandoned." Replied Andre calmly.  
"It's all just too strange to be true."  
"An accident, simply an accident..."  
"You!" The door to the managers' office burst open, revealing a very dishevelled prima donna.  
"Signora, these things do happen."  
Carlotta spat out some words in Italian that sounded suspiciously vulgar. "How dare you sit zere when my poor Piangi is dead?"  
"Signora, I assure you that's no fault of us."  
"I'm quitting."  
Firmin stared, "that's impossible."  
Andre said quite calmly. "You signed a contract."  
"Damn the contract!"  
Ignoring this outburst, the managers adopted a persuasive attitude. "Prima donna, you light up the stage. The wages of everyone here depend on you now. Can you deny your fans your voice? Do you not wish to sing?"  
"Si," she whispered.  
"Then sing you will."  
  
"Ma'am?" Christine's eyelids fluttered at the voice of a confused wardrobe mistress.  
"I'm alright."  
"Nonsense. You're as white as a sheet. Drink this, child. It'll help." Christine, touched by this motherly gesture, sipped from the glass raised to her lips. "Thank you, Milly."  
Of course everything was not alright. The gown... the white wedding dress that had added to her fear and made her faint, it had come back to haunt her. Worse, the wax image stirred a strange sensation deep inside, a feeling of longing, of eagerness to be Erik's wife as she moved closer to the mirror. And then, she had fainted just like she did now, and woke up to the music box, a gentle ringing and his sweet voice. What she wouldn't give to hear that voice again!  
"You will tell them to modify the design at once. Make it look less like... that." She assumed a not of authority in her voice. After all, she was a future Vicomtess.  
"Yes, ma'am." 


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry it took so long to update! A little writer's block on my behalf... or just being lazy.   
  
Well here's the next chapter, hope you like it!  
  
"You don't suppose she could change her mind?" Firmin sat down wearily. "With two leading singers gone I don't know how we'd manage. The Opera House will be gone for certain.  
"Well there's always that Christine Daae..."  
"She's caused enough trouble already." He waved a hand over the disordered desk scattered with letters, newspapers articles, and complaints to be dealt with. "I would have gotten rid of her long ago if the Vicomte wasn't behind her. Indeed, I think he'd strangle our necks if we but uttered one complaint."  
"I think, my dear, that's quite a different person you're referring to there." Andre said darkly. Seeing Firmin's stony face, he recoiled in exasperation. "Alright, alright, but if Carlotta goes, she's the best we've got."  
"But who will be the male lead? We'll have to rehearse for the upcoming opera soon, and the audience does not wait!"  
"Neither does the owner."  
The managers were in deep thought.  
"I've got it!" Cried Andre. "That Vicomte, would he sing?"  
"What?"  
"Our patron. Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. His voice is good, and he'll jump at the chance, being so smitten with that Christine girl.  
"But he has no experience."  
"He travelled with the violinist, did he not?"  
"Indeed... we'll try him out." Firmin did not look thoroughly convinced. "I'll send a note to Monsieur Le Vicomte."  
  
"Guess what I've heard!" "Psst! Sorelli!" "—the Vicomte" "Indeed!" Delighted squeals, gasps, and soft sighs were heard among the ballet rats.  
Christine softly tapped Meg on the shoulder. "So, what exactly are we so excited about?"  
"Your Raoul is going to be singing the leading male role for our next opera! Oh, Christine, you must be so proud! All the ballet girls are insanely jealous of you. Really, a vicomtess!"  
"Yes... so proud." Christine of course had heard the news and did not need to be reminded. Raoul has told her the day he got the letter, and he was so happy to be actually working with her. She then reminded him that now the managers have probably won Carlotta back, he'll probably be stuck with the old hag all day long. He laughed at that and assured her not to worry, she will soon be a great star. Christine was relieved, for he hasn't said another word of leaving the opera to her. Yet she couldn't help but wonder if the Opera Ghost will terrorize the cast again. And if he were drawn to come back again, would she fall victim to the seduction of the mind? To hear that voice again, a voice so pure, so beautiful, rare, heavenly... how weak the human mind is!  
"Christine? What's the matter?"  
"Nothing... I'm fine." She seemed to be asked that by so many these days.  
"If you say so..." Meg looked suspicious. "No, something's wrong. Tell me. Is it Raoul? Did you fight?"  
"No, we're fine..."  
"Then what is it? Could it be..." Her hand flew to her lips and she gasped, "him? Have you been speaking to him again? Christine... you know it's not safe..."  
"No!!" Christine replied all too quickly. It was partly true. She hasn't heard him since that night. "Please! Meg, you're as bad as your mother." Immediately she regretted her harshness. Meg was only a concerned friend, but this is a subject she'd rather not talk about, thinking about it is quite enough for the mind. She knew something that was bound to make her friend forget everything else.  
"Meg, would you be my maid of honour?"  
"You're asking me!" Meg let out a squeal. "Did you think I would ever refuse? Oh I must find a dress! It will be grand. We'll have so much fun!"  
Christine laughed the best she could, muffled by Meg's hugs. "I knew you'll be there for me."  
  
Carlotta Giudicelli felt an urge to laugh. So she did, a piercing, operatic noise. Raoul! The leading tenor! What is the world coming to? Well her career must go on. The stage is all that matters...singing... her whole life. Wait. The thought was so sudden and yet so simple she was surprised that it had not occurred to her earlier.  
Perhaps revenge was not so out of reach after all.  
  
Christine lay in bed awake that night. The mansion was silent, all the sounds and hints of a working household stored away till the break of dawn. For there hours, all the sounds and busy activity were purged and consumed in this blinding darkness.  
"Angel, if you can hear me, my soul is yours."  
  
Yay! So did you like it? Well of course we know, Erik, being Erik, would have heard her. What would his reaction be? Review please! Haha I agree, Raoul is a fop! Aww, but it's not his fault, he was born with it. :D 


	4. Chapter 4

Here's the next chapter... you guys should review more! I rather liked how this chapter turned out...might be the best chapter yet. I don't know, comment, review! Oh, and I haven't really mastered italicising, spacing and all that yet, so bare with me :P  
  
On to the story, and of course I don't own anyone...-sulks in my corner-  
  
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The shape froze in the shadows, blending in even better with the darkness. What did she mean? Could she possibly... no, he refused to hope. Damn that girl, tormenting him after she betrayed him, after all he's done for her. But all he did he did willingly, without regretting a moment of it...everything, if only just for those few, precious moments... his first kiss. The memory stirred something bittersweet deep inside him. And now, the memories have reduced him to this state of spying on an innocent girl. Yet that did not bother him as much as pressing his ear to a door in the house of the Vicomte de Chagny, as he eyed the once bright coloured, spotless walls and furniture with distaste. If that wasn't honourable, he no longer cared. He gave up on honour a long time ago.  
But now, he's heard something that Erik believed to be impossible. Why did she say that? What would a creature like him do with something so delicate, so beautiful...no emperor ever received so fair a gift. Hot tears rolled down his distorted face as he squeezed the small golden ring on his finger, and he sat there a while, reflecting...  
  
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[A pair of golden eyes, forcing itself into her mind, searching, hoping, pleading, "Christine, you must love me!" "No, Erik. My heart belongs to Raoul. You don't understand." "You don't love me." The pain was unbearable. The pain knowing that she was the cause of such pain. "It's not like that. Erik, please!" Begging him to not hurt anymore... to get the intolerable pain out of his eyes. "Oh Christine..." It was an angelic echo, a melodic tune... He burst into flames.]  
  
"Erik!"  
She woke with a start, nightgown soaked with sweat. "Where are you, Erik?" Christine whispered. She needed to explain. He must understand. She will make him understand. "Please..."  
"I gave my heart away a long time ago," it began as a feeble whisper on her lips, "to a boy with golden hair. It was given as easily as it was received, so innocent, so bright and full of light. And all those years, in parting and in reunion, there was always a part of me that never forgot, a part that wasn't truly alive." Was she going mad in the conversation with an unseen angel?  
"When papa died, the other part of me died also. I felt so lost, so abandoned. Her voice trembled with emotion. "I cursed God for taking him away from me, for not taking me also. Oh, angel. Would I be punished for that?" Stifling a sob and forcing a smile, she said that in a tone of heartbreaking childlike devotion and fear. "But then I met you, and I felt what I hadn't felt for a very long time."  
"I was happy."  
"Oh, angel, you gave me so much. You made me alive again, singing for you, for papa's memory. You gave me my voice back, my career. You mended my broken spirit with your heart. And only give you the product of all those things. I gave you my soul. Do you realise, that night I sang, I sang from the soul that you helped me find, and it has been yours every since? And when I found out who you really were, my mind and heart fought for sensibility, for I'm a sensible girl. Yet my soul led me to you, and I loved you, yes." She finally understood her infatuation for him. "I do love you, Erik..."  
A man's harsh breathing ceased, but Christine, mesmerised, paid no attention.  
"Yet my heart belongs to Raoul. Can't you see? It's always been his. Until he gives it back, it cannot be...oh, Erik."  
"Christine I love you..." It sang to her.  
"Angel, my protector! Stay by my side, I must feel your presence..."  
"No... I cannot..." He was gone.  
"Angel..." Christine broke down and sobbed into her pillow.  
  
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The poor child...she still thought of him. How he longed to stay with her! But she mustn't dote on his memory. She must forget him for her own good. Yet knowing he was a part of her was almost enough to break that barrier between them, so that he could touch her once more, make her trust him, take her away from this place into that labyrinth which he had made his home. There was so much that she hasn't seen... No, he loathed himself for making himself known to her, for certainly she and the rest of the world believed he was dead. Or did she know him too well? Could she ever learn to forget now? Those visits brought endless pain with every ounce of happiness, just to see her... The angelic glow vibrating from those golden locks and flushed cheeks can't be hidden in a veil of darkness, forever in mourning, for what? Perhaps his cursed ugliness. Poor Erik...the man's voice laughed a low, bitter laugh. Her happiness was all that mattered now, and she belonged to a world that was so completely different from his own.  
Perhaps his world will slowly return to normal as well. Perhaps, just perhaps tomorrow he could even enjoy his Don Juan Triumphant in Box 5.  
  
This was published a while after I wrote it... I was too lazy to type it up and upload it and all...the internet was having problems. Ah well have fun reading! 


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